


You're My Everything

by TheRealSEHinton



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:15:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealSEHinton/pseuds/TheRealSEHinton
Summary: “You don’t gotta lie to me about it, you know,” I say, still brushing his chin. “It’s alright, I just don’t want you to keep on pretending.”“I don’t think I’m lying,” he mumbles.“Do you know what you said to me? That night? Do you remember what happened?”“You kissed me.”
Relationships: Johnny Cade/Dallas Winston
Comments: 27
Kudos: 88





	You're My Everything

“Yeah, and I guess she was plannin’ on asking me out--hey, are you even listening to me?”

I take a break from studying my fucked up cuticles and look up at Ponyboy. Maybe I got a little lost once I noticed how chewed down my nails were, and that all reminded me of how stressed I’ve been lately. I’ve been biting them a lot more as of late, sometimes to the point where I can taste blood or I get a pinch of skin caught between my teeth.

Pony doesn’t look too amused, he was in the middle of a story. I’m trying my best to remember what he was saying but I can’t muster much. I think it was all about some broad in his English class or whatnot--nothing I really cared about if I’m gonna be honest

“Yeah,” I lie, then I shake my head and fumble over my words for a bit, “um, well, no, but, I--gosh,” I take in a deep breath and sigh. “Sorry, Pone, I’m a little distracted today. There’s a lot on my mind, you know?”

Pony groans dramatically and rolls away from me on his bed, facing the wall. “Ah, it’s alright, I guess. Nothing interesting happened, I wouldn’t have said yes.”

My finger is already in my mouth before I can stop it, it mumbles my voice. “Uh-huh?”

“Uh-huh,” he replies, nodding slowly. Then he shifts around, turning to me and nudging my shoulder with his hand. “Hey, I’m gonna work on my homework. You wanna stay for tonight? Maybe sleep-over?”

“Uh,” I start, muttering through my teeth as they gnaw on my skin. “I dunno.”

He shrugs, “Well, tell me when ya leave.”

“Yeah,” I say, absentmindedly bobbing my head. “Yeah, I think imma head out for a bit, Pony.”

“Alright, Johnny.” His eyes are focused on a book and he flicks his wrist towards me, like some kind of gesture for saying goodbye. “Come by tomorrow, will ya?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I get up from my spot on the floor and stretch a little, feeling all my muscles and joints relax just a bit. I wave goodbye to Pony one more time and leave, checking quick to see if anyone’s in the living room. 

It’s empty, no one’s there. Not Steve and Soda sharing a slice of cake, not Two-Bit on the carpet gazing up at the TV, not the smell of Darry’s cooking wafting in from the kitchen.

Not Dallas. He hasn’t been around for a few days. Five, to be exact.

I try my best not to get irrationally angry thinking about that. I just fill my lungs with hot air and walk out of the house, looking for a quiet place I can go to think. The thing is, for most of the week I’d been going out of my way to distract myself. I didn’t spend too much time alone, I hung by the Curtis house more often than usual, I smoked a lot, I even drank with Two at some point, and Steve and I got high at school the other day. 

I just don’t wanna think about Dallas.

At first, it seems like my feet are leading me no where, then I realize I’m making my sure way to the lot. I notice how the sun is beginning to descend, slowly but surely meeting the horizon, and the moon is gonna come up soon. I guess I’ll be spending the night outside, then. I’ve spent so much time around the Curtis brothers, they’ll probably be grateful for a small break.

Once I reach the place, I kind of aimlessly wander around. I don’t have much around me, just concrete and an empty oil can, a broken down mustang and a dilapidated car seat in that corner there. I sort of just kick around some pebbles with my sneakers and breathe. And then I keep breathing, hoping that can be some kind of game for me maybe.

It’s not working, nothing is. I can’t seem to get my mind to shut up, I can’t help but wonder what Dally is doing.

Five days of his absence isn’t even that long, not compared to some of the other times he’s disappeared. I guess the worst part is the reason why he’s gone, why he’s been avoiding me for this whole week.

It sucks to know that he’s trying to get rid of me, like some tangible paranoia from the deepest parts of my brain. It almost makes me want to cry or scream. 

This has already happened a few times. Dallas Winston seems to be the king of screw-ups. It’s nighttime, he’s drunk, I’m tipsy or high, we head up to his room at Bucks’, and he pulls me a little too close and says a little too much. ‘You’re so beautiful, Johnny’ or ‘you’re amazing’ or ‘if you were a girl, Johnny, if things were different, if we could pretend.”

I remember all those times I held my breath like I was waiting for him to kiss me, as if I knew a thing about kissing. I’ve only kissed two people for real, and not chaste little pecks you give to family members. Freshman year, I remember some skirt had pulled me behind a closed door and pressed her lips against mine. I let her for a while, and then we went on like nothing had ever happened. She tried approaching me at school sometimes, I always avoided her.

And then there was Pony, but I do my best not to think too hard on that one. He asked me to help him out, asked for practice, and I tried to tell him that I was the last person he should ask. But I guess he trusted me, and then it happened and we never ever talked about it. Sometimes, it seems like he wants to bring it up but I would honestly just rather forget about that day.

Maybe that’s how Dally feels whenever he wakes up in the mornings and remembers the night before, maybe that’s why he always leaves.

He never has kissed me, but the other day he got real close. Dally put his mouth on my neck, and my jaw, then my cheek and he was just inches away from my lips. When he pulled back he stared at me and said, “You’re my everything, Johnny.”

He always makes sure to say my name at the end of his sentences when he acts up like that. Like he doesn’t want to forget it’s me, like he wants me to know he’s not just imagining some girl in bed. It’s me he wants. It’s me he’s been desiring, and he only lets it show on the days he can blame the intoxication. 

That was the catalyst to this moment, the moment where I sit in that isolated car seat and chew on my nails again. And now 120 some hours have passed since we last spoke and I wish I knew what he was thinking.

There’s been something blossoming my chest for the past few days, I recognize it as hatred.

When I get angry, it’s hard not to feel scared. I put off that emotion as much as I can, cause all I can associate anger with is reckless destruction. I remember all those moments since I was a kid, when the white boys in town would push me around, call me names, make stupid faces and noises. And my mind just imagined dragging them all, tossing their bodies into a river, making them regret ever looking my direction. 

I don’t wanna kill Dallas Winston, but, glory, I never can tell where my mind will go. I’m trying not to do anything irrational, I’m trying not to think anything irrationally. I could go into my room, rummage through my closet and dresser, pick out all the shirts he’s let me keep and set them on fire. I could burn all the things he’s made me feel.

I’d regret it in the end, I know it. But I wanna do something. Something bad, something impulsive.

I wish I’d brought a book, or a smoke, or a joint. I wish I could keep my thoughts away from anything dangerous. Things get real dark in my mind, darker than I’d like to admit. And there’s this burning sensation in my blood, making my fingers itch.

Goddamit, I wanna do something.

My feet feel like they’re buzzing.

I wanna do something. 

Maybe Ponyboy would keep me at bay, but he’s doing homework. No need to bother that kid, I don’t gotta divulge all my personal issues onto him. I guess I could head home, but I feel fucking murderous whenever I go inside that house. And that plus the emotions bubbling inside me right now, I don’t know how that equation would turn out.

Maybe…maybe I could head over to Dallas.

Wait, no.

Christ, I really let that thought slip into my mind for a moment. 

You don’t just go see Dallas Winston. I’ve never just gone to see Dallas Winston. No, I wait around and pretend he’s the last thing on my mind until he makes the conscious decision to approach me. I don’t go up to him, I don’t invite him to places, I wait till it all happens to me.

He and I, we’ve established a lot of patterns over the time that we’ve known each other. And I just play into the game we created. Dallas flirting with me while he’s drunk and then avoiding me for days? That’s just how we function. And me letting him string me along, play with my heart, and completely disregard my emotions? It’s what I’ve gotten used to.

I guess we just set up all these boundaries, and neither of us has ever had the courage to break them. 

There’s really no point in stepping out of our comfort zone, is there? I mean, what the hell would the point be? Dallas could flirt with me sober, he could tell me how he feels, I could pretend I wasn’t scared, I could pretend I wasn’t dumb.

We could do that, nothing’s really stopping us. Nothing’s stopping me.

But there are risks, like the risk of getting my head bashed in, the risk of being hounded and purged by the entire town. And the risk of him hating me forever. I know how he feels about me, I can’t keep on acting like I don’t, but if he’s not telling me anything then it must be for a reason.

Maybe it has to do with more than just him being a queer. If it were all about that part, he and Tim wouldn’t be necking every other weekend. Dally isn’t simple like that, no, he’s all unpredictable, there’s always something else going on with him. And you can’t just ask. I’ve seen people ask him questions, nothing ever ends up well for them.

But he doesn’t really treat me like other people, does he? Usually, when I start on that thought, this idea that I might be ‘special’ to Dallas Winston, I feel real stupid. I’ve had it pointed out to me enough times, for sure, but it’s wild to believe. I can’t deny it, though, that Dallas has some kind of soft spot for me. Just like I can’t deny the way he looks into my eyes when he’s drunk, just like I can’t deny that he feels something deeper for me than he’ll ever admit. 

Maybe I do know him better than I think, maybe Pony and all them are right. And maybe he wouldn’t hate me if I asked. I’ve gotten mad at him plenty of times, hell I’ve yelled at him. Not only cause I know he won’t hurt me, when I’m angry that kind of logic doesn’t even cross my mind, but whether or not I know he doesn’t do it, I don’t think he ever would.

If I was wrong or bothersome for asking him, for looking for some kind of clarity, he couldn’t hate me. I could just be trying to convince myself that, but he just can’t hate me. He knows how much he means to me, and I think I know now how much I mean to him. He couldn’t just let me go like that.

I’m sure that the smart thing to do would be to wait it out, just until Dallas comes back and I’ve all calmed down, and then maybe I could confront him then. But I’m not thinking rationally, I never do when I feel like my gut is boiling.

It’s almost like I’m a different person when I get up from that worn-out seat and march away, this time knowing for certain where I’m going. The destination is clear in my mind like a map, I’ve been past these corners and turns and under these lamplights many times before. The sun sets further past the black silhouettes of buildings, I know exactly what shadows to blend into and which side I’m safest on.

It doesn’t take me too long to reach Buck’s place. The building looms before me, like it’s no longer just a ramshackle house but a skyscraper. I don’t let it set me off, though, and, after I knock, I don’t let Buck set me off either when he scowls as he opens the door.

“What do you want, kid?” He asks, voice as raspy and chilling as a growl.

“I’m here for Dallas,” I say, making sure my tone indicates that the answer should have been obvious. 

Buck doesn’t like the little edge in my words, I guess my attitude isn’t too appreciated. But I could honestly give less of a shit. 

“I don’t think he wants to see you,” he says.

Those words cut deeper than they should. I wanna say something in response but it’s like my mouth is glued shut.

He turns his head over his shoulder and shrugs, “But I can tell him that you’re here, just wait-”

I push against the door and lean close to him, “Look, man, I just wanna see Dally. It’s not like I’m gonna be in your hair so you don’t have to be a di-”

I almost gasp and cover my mouth like a reflex. Buck quirks a confused eyebrow when I abruptly stop talking, especially when I flinch away from him. For a second, it’s almost like reality dawns on me. Like I’m no longer as strong as I thought I was, like I’m no longer certain anymore. I almost wanna shrink away and leave.

Buck sighs and massages the bridge of his nose. “Look, kid, he’s up in his room. I don’t want him to come get pissed at me cause I let you inside, though.”

I snap out of my random trance and nod in response, silently pushing past him and further into the house. Awkwardness settles over me like a thick blanket, knotting together tightly in my stomach. Somehow, I manage to ignore it.

I’m too far gone once I knock on his door, and I contemplate running away.

Dear God, maybe I should.

I think I’m about to, but a few seconds pass and I get no answer. That could be a sign that I should just leave him alone, but instead, like a fucking idiot, I decide to knock again.

I hear his muffled voice calling from inside the room. “Jesus Christ, who is it!”

I should answer. I don’t. I give the door three more quick rasps and prepare to do more until it hastily opens, and Dallas shoves his face through the opening looking angry as all hell.

“What the fuck do you want?” He barks, then nearly jumps when he sees me. “Oh, fuck, Johnny.”

Whatever I wanted to say dies on my tongue as I look up at him. His hair’s all tousled, like he was laying on his bed, but there are no bags under his eyes. No, instead of quick, tired lines I notice the large bruises. One big, purple, and swelling under his left eyebrow, one by his mouth, and too many to count on his chest and torso and arms. He’s got a few cuts and scratches too, like the one on his bottom lip.

“Oh shit,” I mumble.

Dallas leans away from me. “Johnny, what are you doing here, kid?”

“Dally,” I say, voice all soft and tamed, “you look like hell.”

He chuckles and then smirks. “Gee, thanks.”

“You haven’t cleaned up yet?” I ask.

He lifts his thumb to the side of his nose and gently scratches it. “Nah, kid, I barely got here ‘bout ten minutes ago.”

“Oh,” I say, breathing in afterwards and walking past him, into the bedroom. “Well, it’s a good thing I got here when I did, then.”

I can hear him sigh behind me. “Johnny-”

I make my way to his tiny bathroom, a cramped little space where the showerhead is broken and you have to use a bucket to wash. The sink is all green and dirty, and there’s no hand soap either, just a little bar on the wet floor. Dallas trails behind me into the small area and I gesture to the toilet seat.

“Sit down,” I say.

“Look, you don’t have to-”

“Do you want me to leave?” I ask him, crossing my arms. “Do you not want me to be here?”

He looks taken aback at that. “I never said that, Johnny.”

“Great,” I nod, “now sit down.”

A breathy noise escapes his throat, like a little laugh. He looks away momentarily, and smiles like he’s in disbelief, but then he looks back at me. I do my best not to shy away from his gaze. Then he finally relents, reluctantly sitting down in front of me on the toilet seat.

I grab his chin in my hands and pull him towards me, he flinches a little when I do that. Maybe my grip was too hard, maybe our faces are too close. Either way, I loosen my hold on him. I hum in my throat. “Lemme take a good look.”

I nod my chin and gesture to his big, black eye. “You got some ice for that thing?”

“Buck gave me some,” he says. “I was using it ‘fore you came by.”

I step away from him. “Well, don’t let me stop you, Dal. Go get it.”

He rolls his eyes and chuckles a little, the sound erupts deep in his throat. It makes my ears burn a little. “You’re always so bossy during these things.”

When he moves to get the ice pack I check the little cabinet he has above his sink, fetching some rubbing alcohol and then some toilet paper nearby after that. “Well, you should start listening to me more. You wouldn’t be getting into so many mix-ups. I don’t get all your interest in fighting, and rumbles-”

“So you’re gonna lecture me now?” He says, leaning against the doorway of the bathroom, quirking one of his eyebrows and tossing me a devilish smile. 

I scoff at him. “Will ya just sit down, Dal?”

“Since you asked so politely,” he says, laughing heartily, and returning to sit down in front me, at an angle where he’s forced to tilt his head up and I have to look down. For some reason his eyes look different when they’re below me, like they’re bigger, wider, younger. Maybe that’s why everyone thinks of me like I’m a kid, cause I gotta look up and they gotta look down.

“Here,” I say gently, taking his hand in mine and raising it up to his bruised eye. There’s this little motion he makes when my fingers brush over his, like a jump or a startle. Like something ran through him in the moment when we touched. It makes me feel like a stupid little boy with a stupid little crush, so I try not to think about it too much.

“I know what to do,” he mumbles, pressing the ice to him.

“Just trying to help,” I say with a sing-songy voice. It makes him smile, a soft, real one. I’ve always been a bit fonder of those beams. His face lights up when he does that.

I pour some rubbing alcohol onto the wad of toilet paper in my hands, Dallas sucks in a breath when he sees me doing that. I chuckle and look down at him. “You’re such a baby.”

He frowns. “I am not.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, taking the damp paper and placing it on one of his many cuts. 

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning his head back and squeezing his eyes tight. “Shit, fuck, shit, fuck, fuck.”

“You,” I start playfully, “are such a baby.”

“It hurts like a bitch,” he says in a strained voice.

I giggle. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

His eyes darken and he shoots me a glare. “Well, I’m not gonna.”

“Oh no,” I say, dramatically flailing my hands around as I move to get some more toilet paper. “You? Crying? Impossible! You? Showing emotion? Never! Imagine! Just the thought-”

“Alright, alright, I get it.”

I straighten up and settle myself between his legs again, laughing to myself as I pour out more rubbing alcohol. “You can say all you want, but you’re still a whining bitch whenever I clean you up.”

Dallas purses his lips and says nothing, only silently watches as I smirk in satisfaction and bend to set the bottle on the floor. Then, he starts to shift around, making me lose my balance and start falling.

He grabs me by my hips as I reach out to him, steadying me with his large hands. When we’re face to face again I scowl at him and push him, maybe a little too hard since he winces. “Dallas, you’re such a dick!”

He ignores me and howls with laughter, cackling like crazy. I roll my eyes and shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest as I wait for him to stop. “Are you done now? I still gotta finish you up and-Dal!” I grab his hand again and lift it to his eye, more forcibly this time. “Keep putting pressure on that thing or it’s gonna be bad.”

“Ugh,” he sighs, a hint of giggle still present, his voice still light as he almost whispers the next words, “So bossy.”

“Whatever,” I say, continuing to hold the paper against his cuts and ignoring his hisses of pain--which have calmed down since the first ones. He looks up at me as I work, his eyes all blue and present, reminding me of his drunken nights where he would just stare me down and grin.

“You know,” I start, my eyes land on the small cut on his bottom lip, so tiny it’s already becoming a scab and yet I bring my fingers up to it anyways, hold some damp toilet paper there just to touch the skin of his jaw, “I thought, for a second, maybe you’ve been avoiding me these past few days cause you got into a fight. But that’s not true, right? All these bruises are fresh.”

“Avoiding you?” He repeats, sounding helpless. 

“You don’t gotta lie to me about it, you know,” I say, still brushing his chin. “It’s alright, I just don’t want you to keep on pretending.”

“I don’t think I’m lying,” he mumbles.

“Do you know what you said to me?” I ask suddenly. Our faces are awful close, I notice it. His hand is still on my hips but his grip became tighter, almost pulling me to him. It’s like we’re glued together right now, and we can’t turn away. “That night? Do you remember what happened?”

He takes a deep swallow, I notice the way his adam’s apple moves. “Um, I don’t know, Johnny. I think you gotta be more specific.”

“Five days ago,” I say, my voice firm, resonating deep in my throat. Everything’s beginning to sound a lot more raw. “Five days ago, what you did. You-” I take a deep breath and then let it go. “You kissed me.”

His eyes shoot wide open and he nearly jumps from his seat, he probably would’ve if I hadn’t held him down by his arms. He drops the ice pack right on the floor and I fight the urge to pick it up.

“Now, listen here, Johnny,” he says, pointing a finger to me, “I definitely did not kiss you.”

“So you do remember, huh?” I say accusingly, narrowing my eyes at him and frowning. “You probably remember anything that’s ever happened between us and you’ve been lying this whole time!”

“Well, I-uh-” He begins to stutter and then shakes his head. “You know, Johnny, it ain’t lying-”

“It is lying!” I say. “It’s lying because since forever you’ve been making it seem like I’m just crazy, like I’m just imagining things, like nothing’s real!”

“Johnny-”

“You’ve-” I start, pulling back once I realize how loud I’ve been yelling, nearing screaming, nearing hysterics. “You’ve said things to me, Dallas. So many things, and I just don’t know how to fucking handle them. Not when you leave me the next morning and pretend I don’t exist for a couple a days. And then we get up to talking again and we never mention it and I don’t know why! I wish you would just talk to me.”

He looks down and shrugs his shoulders. “Look, man, what is there to talk about?”

“Everything! Dallas, come on, there’s everything. It all matters to me, you know? I just don’t understand, why do you always avoid the subject, is it cause,” I bite my lip and lean away, make sure my voice gets real low when I speak again, “is it cause you’re a queer?”

He glares up at me and scowls. “Hey, I’m no queer.”

“Dallas,” I say softly, “how the hell do you explain everything then? How do you explain Tim?”

“What about Tim?”

“What about you two necking every weekend.”

“Johnny-”

“What about me?” I ask. “How do you explain me? And the way you act with me the way you’re drunk, the way you say… that I’m your everything. Is that not true?”

He doesn’t respond immediately, I notice the way his fingers play with one another instead. He just scoffs. “I said that?”

“Dallas-”

“Okay, yeah, I know I said that,” he says, finally relenting. “Look, I know about everything. And yeah, I know about how I avoid you for a few days because I just-I-Johnny, I just don’t know how to handle it.”

“That you’re a queer?” I ask. “Or that you like me?”

He looks up at me, not bothering to speak or defend himself, just staring. Almost like he’s shocked I would ever say that, but there’s also a bit of sadness in his eyes.

He opens his mouth, he kind of breathes, like he wants to say something in response. But I guess he decides against it, because he shuts his lips and sighs.

It seems like the conversation should die right about there, and maybe I never will know how Dallas actually feels about me, maybe I’ll never get him to be honest.

But that buzzing in my blood doesn’t go away, it’s still present. Vibrating like a pulse.

“If I asked you to kiss me right now, would you?”

And then he’s giving me that look again, like he’s dumbfounded. Like he can’t believe I just did that. There’s this stupid little expression on his face, for some reason I wanna kiss it away.

“Johnny,” he says, voice trailing off afterwards.

“That’s not an answer.”

“What do you expect me to say?” He asks.

“I don’t expect anything,” I say. “I just asked you and you didn’t answer.”

“I’m kind of at a loss for words.”

“How about a different question, then. If I went and kissed you right now, would you let me?”

He doesn’t look too flabbergasted at that. His face kind of brightens up a little, and I can see how the corner of his lips curves into a small grin. There’s still that scab there.

“Would you?”

I fight a sly smile and shrug my shoulders, pulling away coyly. “I didn’t say I would, Dallas, I was only asking.”

“Ah,” he leans back and nods his head. “So that was just a question, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm, a harmless question.”

“Well, what about mine?” He says. “Would you kiss me?”

I bite my lip, feeling my cheeks begin to flush. My body becomes warm all over like I’m drowning in some sugary sweet emotion. He’s real good at this, getting people to feel this way. I had the upper hand just for a second, and now he’s stringing me along again. No wonder he’s always got broads hanging off his arm. 

“Well,” I say, “I can’t answer yours until you’ve answered mine.”

For a moment, I don’t think he’s gonna say anything. I’m convinced we’re gonna keep dancing around the situation, moving in circles and never really accomplishing anything. I’m gonna be forced to live with the fact that I almost had Dallas Winston, he was right there but I couldn’t get a real hold on someone as unpredictable as him.

But then he licks his lips and smiles, that real one again. “Yes. Yes I would.”

I can’t fight the grin that slips onto my face.

You’d think someone like him would pull me in, crash our faces together, kiss me wildly till I forgot my own name. I’ve seen him do it with all kinds of girls before, maybe that's what I was expecting. But, from the way he’s looking at me, it seems like he’s got a few expectations of his own. 

You’d think I’d just watch him then, keep staring at him staring at me as we both wait for someone to make a move. Keep waiting until eventually we just give up and pretend tonight never happened. That’s something I would do. I don’t kiss first, I never move in, I haven’t even kissed that many times before.

You’d think so.

Maybe it’s that pulsing in my bones, but I lean forward. Only a little bit, as to where our lips haven’t connected yet. Less than an inch more and they could brush against each other like a soft whisper, but we’re not there. I stay still for a moment, looking into his eyes, looking for some kind of clarity. I want to make sure that neither of us are going to forget this moment. This is happening. This is now.

I move when he begins to breathe, and then we’re kissing. I could almost cry, I think. There’s this feeling that consumes me as his lips work over mine, as they open me up and urge me to get closer to him. I can breathe his breath and feel his tongue and run my fingers through his hair, and some kind of sensation and stimulation rushes through me. I feel so overwhelmed, I release it all with a strange sound I can’t control. He seems to repeat what I did, and he picks up that noise and lifts me, setting me on his lap so we have even less space between our bodies.

I take his face in my hands as he glides his hands all over me, touching me so softly and sweetly and then resting on my hips--gently squeezing there and releasing to tangle themselves in my hair. When I take a break from his mouth to give his jaw the same kisses he gave mine, he sighs and tugs at my curls, stinging my scalp a little. I let out another noise and he smiles, dipping his head to connect our lips again.

I hear him whisper my name, "Johnny."

It sounds like a dream, it feels like a dream. But the best part about it is that it isn't, and that's where the fantasy lies. Because I couldn't have ever imagined this.

When we pull away from each other, with our breaths coming out heavy and our hearts beating like crazy, all I can say is, "Wow."

That makes him laugh, me too. It was kind of a stupid thing to say. But I can't help myself, I've never experienced a kiss like that before.

It's really not surprising how he gets so many people into bed. I don't even know how I would respond if he asked for something right now, I wouldn't have the brain capacity to say no to him.

But neither of us talk much. We're staring into each other's eyes like idiots, and I just realized how beautiful it is to have him looking at me like this sober. I want more of it.

"Promise me you're not gonna lie anymore," I say eventually. "Just tell me what you want."

He smiles sadly, his face so soft and vulnerable. "I don't know what I want, Johnny. I don't know what I'm supposed to want."

I snake my arms around him and pull him into an embrace, he nestles his head in the crook of my neck and plants a kiss there. "I want you, Dallas."

I feel the breath of his chuckle on my skin, hot and pleasant. He breathes out again and rolls his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. I want you too."


End file.
